“Pops and my grandfather used to do this every year when I was a kid,” he said, his eyes softening as he peered down at me. “I remember sitting on that porch swing over there, drinking hot cocoa, and watching them argue about the best way to hang the lights.”
I smiled, imagining a younger version of Charles in this very spot. “Sounds like a nice tradition.”
“It was.” His gaze drifted to the inn’s weathered facade. “When my grandfather passed, I was in college. Pops kept the tradition going, though, and now I guess it’s my turn to help out.”
There was a wistfulness in his voice that made me climb up and reach for his hand. He squeezed it gently, his warmth seeping through our gloves.
Pops joined us, carrying a spool of lights one-handed. “Charles, your dad mentioned you’re gearing up to take over the company soon. How’s that going?”
Charles hesitated, then shrugged. “It’s . . . a lot. I like being more behind the scenes in Denver. Once Dad retires, I’ll have to be front and center. That’s going to change everything.”
Pops nodded thoughtfully. “Big shoes to fill, but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. Your grandfather would be proud.”
I realized then that Charles was very much woven into the fabric of this town. Not just a spectator from high above on the mountain. He had roots here. Connections.
“Hey,” I said, when Pops stepped back inside. “Can I ask you about something?”
“Sure. What’s up?” Charles climbed down from the ladder and we both leaned against the porch railing.
“A few people have mentioned that this is your first time back in Maplewood Creek in years. I was curious as to why.”
He was quiet for a few moments, gathering his thoughts. “My grandfather’s death hit me hard. Coming back here after that made me miss him too much. So, I stayed away. Sort of in my grief, you know? This is the first year in ages I haven’t wanted to just stay in bed and hide until the holidays are over.” He took my hand and squeezed. “I think maybe you have a lot to do with that.”
The blush rose hot and bright over my cheeks as I ducked my head to smother a grin. “I’m not taking credit, but I’m glad you’re feeling a little better.”
“Is there anything else you want to know?” he said, examining my face.
“Well, I don’t want to pry, so you can tell me to shut up, but . . .” Ugh, this was awkward. “Well, I sort of heard something about a car accident?”
“Oh.” His eyes widened, then his face fell with embarrassment. “Yeah. Not one of my finer moments. It was back in college. Just after my grandad died. I wasn’t, let’s say, coping well. Drinking, partying. All that.” He glanced out across the snow-covered yard at the wooden Snowdrift Inn sign that sat among the shrubs near the road. “Plowed a Land Rover straight into that sign. Absolutely demolished it.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Yep. Spent the night in jail and everything.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Oh, no,” he said, with evident relief. “I mean, I was a little banged up from the air bag, but I got very lucky.”
“Came back after he slept it off and apologized, too,” Pops said, meeting us on the porch with a couple of coffee mugs held by the handle in his good hand. “Paid for that new sign there, and spent the rest of the season doing chores around the inn to make amends.”
“Pops was gracious enough to forgive me,” Charles admitted. “I’m grateful.”
“Everybody deserves a second chance,” Pops said cheerfully. “It’s what you do with it that matters.”
“Very true,” Charles agreed. “I’m just glad to be enjoying a Maplewood Creek holiday season again. There’s really nothing like it.”
Truthfully, I felt exactly the same. This was the first time in a long while the holidays felt like something to look forward to. Usually, it just meant catering gigs and long hours. Microwave meals at home alone. This year, it felt special. Festive. And I couldn’t have picked a better backdrop, or better people to celebrate with.
Back at the chalet, Charles helped me unpack in the kitchen. Every inch of storage space was packed full with supplies for the big event.
“You’re really going to cook all this by yourself?” he asked, daunted by the prospect of everything we’d stuffed in the walk-in fridge.
“Kind of, yeah. Megan is bringing in a few sous chefs, but mostly they’ll be on prep and plating.”
He whistled, shaking his head. “I think I’d just curl up in a ball.”
“Oh, I’ve already done that a couple of times since I’ve been here. A good stress cry in the shower does wonders.”
